tablecloth, stained with pools of blood, was still there, to say nothing of the dark brown lakes on the ceiling and carpet.
'My God! Looks as though you were right.'
'I'd hardly make it up,' Tweed responded. 'And Amberg's face had been splashed with acid after being shot dead. He looked like a skull.'
He watched Gaunt's reaction but no emotion showed on the Squire's face. He walked slowly to the head of the table and stood looking down where Amberg had lain over the broken chair.
'Cost me a bloody fortune to clean up this place,' Gaunt rasped. 'And there are holes in the panelling. That will have to be attended to. Damned expensive.'
'Greg is money-conscious,' Jennie said as though she felt it diplomatic to explain Gaunt's apparent mercenary attitude. 'It's understandable. Keeping up a place like this these days is a drain on his purse.'
'Do you mind not discussing my personal affairs with a stranger,' Gaunt rapped at her. He looked at Tweed. 'I return from a day away which I enjoyed and find this. I still can't take it in.'
'How did you spend the day?' Tweed enquired.
'None of your business. You sound like a policeman.'
'Greg? Jennie spoke sharply. 'It was a polite question.' She turned to Tweed. 'He has a small cottage at Five Lanes on the edge of the moor. The arrangement was we'd stay away from here from eight in the morning until now. Amberg holds – held – business meetings here.'
'Do belt up, Jennie,' Gaunt said with less force. 'You know something, Tweed? I don't feel like staying in here. Let's repair to the living-room. Thank God the staff survived. It's hell getting fresh servants.'
'He won't admit it,' Jennie whispered to Tweed as Gaunt marched out, 'but he's in a state of shock. Would you please join us for some tea? If Cook is up to it. I'll go and have a word, maybe give her a hand.'
'I'll come too,' Paula said.
She glanced at Tweed who was gazing out of the window into the distance. The light was fading and night fell over the drive like a menacing shadow. Knowing they were hemmed in by the desolate moor, Paula shivered.
'Where are you people off to when you leave?' enquired Gaunt. They had just devoured a huge tea of sandwiches and home-made fruit cake. They sat in the living-room on: ouches and armchairs. Gaunt faced Tweed and Paula while Cardon sat on a couch next to Jennie. Butler and Nield had chosen chairs facing the windows which they watched constantly – no one had closed the curtains.
'London,' Tweed lied smoothly. 'There shouldn't be a lot of traffic on the roads at this hour.'
'I'd have expected you to stay somewhere down here until the morning,' Gaunt persisted.
No one had mentioned the bomb outrage at Park Crescent to their host. He reached for a box of cigars and, when everyone refused, lit one for himself. It was quite a ritual: trimming the tip off, after rolling it close to his ear, then using a match to ignite it. He took a deep puff and sighed with enjoyment.
'That's better. After today. Tweed, I have been wondering what happened to all the cars Amberg and his guests must have arrived in. Amberg always had a Roller.'
'The police drove them away for further examination.'
'Fat lot of use that will do them.'
'It's surprising what forensic specialists can detect.'
'You really do sound like a policeman.' Gaunt's eyes gleamed as though scoring a bull. 'What do you do for a living?'
'I'm an insurance negotiator.'
'Insurance!' Gaunt jumped up. 'Oh my God! I'll bet my insurance doesn't cover damage caused by mass murder.'
'Depends on how the policy is worded,' Tweed said in a soothing tone.
'Blast it, Greg!' Jennie raged. 'Stop being so obsessed with money. You should be worried about how this terrible experience has affected the staff.'
'It hasn't,' Tweed assured her. 'The police brought a doctor with their team. He examined your staff, said all they'd suffer from were temporary headaches. Celia, the new girl, was tapped only lightly on the head.' He saw Paula watching him, startled by his recent slip of the tongue. He covered it, looking at Gaunt. 'The reason I know about the forensic business is the chief inspector – a man called Buchanan – explained to me why they needed the cars. Incidentally, he said he would need to talk to you.'
'He won't be welcome, I can tell you that.'
'You said,' Jennie began, to ease the tension, addressing Tweed, 'that this fake postman delivered a parcel which poor Mounce was still clutching when the police examined him. I wonder what it contained?'
'A technician opened the package outside in the garden,' Tweed told her. 'You'll never guess what it contained. A box of Sprungli truffle chocolates.'
'I find that rather beastly,' Jennie commented.
'Sprungli?' repeated Gaunt, who had sat down again. 'A firm in Zurich – where Amberg came from.'
'I don't think Buchanan overlooked that,' Tweed remarked drily. Checking his watch, he stood up. 'I think we really ought to be going. Thank you for your hospitality.'
'It was nothing,' Gaunt said gruffly.
Jennie looked at Cardon. 'I live in Padstow in a rented flat. Here is a card with my phone number. It's a strange port-located on the estuary of the River Camel. Greg and I go there quite often. At this time of the year it's so gloriously quiet and hidden away. If you're down that way do come and see me, won't you?'
Tweed kept a blank expression. Padstow was their real destination.
The door to the hall had been left ajar as though Gaunt was expecting a phone call. The bell began ringing at that moment. Gaunt walked briskly out of the room. He was back again, almost at once, looking rather annoyed.
'It's someone for you, Tweed. Wouldn't give a name. People are so rude these days. No manners at all…'
Tweed closed the door behind him, crossed the hall, picked up the phone. All the staff had gone home – Jennie had explained they arrived early in the morning and cycled home again in the evening.
Tweed here.'
'Hoped I might catch you,' the familiar voice said, deadpan. 'I'm back at the Yard – flew to London from St Mawgan Airport. Exeter has been on the line. I wondered how someone got hold of a postman's outfit. Now we know.' Buchanan paused, waited.
'All right, you want me to ask how. So – how?'
'They stole the uniform of the genuine postman from his cottage at Five Lanes.' He paused. 'They've just found his body, throat slashed open from ear to ear.'
6
Tweed drove the Ford Escort with headlights undipped as he followed the lonely road in pitch darkness across the moor, heading back to the A30. Paula, acting as navigator, sat beside him while Cardon was alone in the back. Behind them Nield, driving the Sierra, had Butler sitting alongside him. He used the red lights of the Escort to warn him of oncoming bends. His own headlights were dipped to avoid a blinding glare in Tweed's rear-view mirror.
'Why are we going to Padstow?' Paula asked.
To go underground until I've identified the enemy.'
'Not like you to run,' she probed.
'A tactical retreat. We may be up against the most powerful and dangerous enemy we've ever confronted.'
'What makes you think that?'
'First, Amberg begs me to join him at Tresillian Manor. With a lot of protection. Maybe we were the targets for the killer as much as he was.'
